


Why Tom Shaved His Beard

by BeaRyan



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Blood, Crack, F/M, Knife Play, Oral Sex, beardvolution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 18:48:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaRyan/pseuds/BeaRyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom has rescued Julia from the refugee camp, but their night of passion goes awry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Tom Shaved His Beard

Tom blocked the door as Jason tried to enter the small, shabby boarding house honeymoon suite. “We got you your own room for a reason. Read a book. Get a whore. I don't care. Just go somewhere else.” 

Jason glanced at his mother as she settled elegantly on the window seat. Her gray, prison-like uniform had been dirty and frayed before they'd broken her out of the refugee camp. Now it was blood splattered and with a hole in the knee. She looked like she couldn't wait to take it off and not just because it was ugly. His dad was almost fifty and had been laying pipe to the same woman for over twenty-five years. It would be sweet if it wasn't his mom who was about to get banged. It was definitely time for a drink. 

“I love you, Mom,” he said. “I'll see you for breakfast.” 

She crossed the room to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “I love you too. Goodnight.” 

Tom closed the door behind Jason and pressed Julia against it, one thigh thrust between hers and his erection hard against her. He grabbed the front of her shirt in his fist and announced, “This has to go.” 

Tom drew the large hunting knife from his belt. The tang of blood filled the air and dark flecks muted the shine of the blade. It had been a messy afternoon and he was in a mood. Thankfully Julia had a wild streak. He pressed the dull back of the blade against her neck, eliciting a gasp as the cold metal touched her skin. 

“Are you ready, Mrs. Neville?” he asked. 

“For what, Captain Neville?” she asked.

“General.” 

“General?”

“We'll get to that later,” he said. “Right now we have other business to attend to.” He leaned back enough to slip the blade into the neckline of her shirt and tugged, feeling only slight resistance from the cheap cloth before it gave way. He slit the garment open to her waist, turning the shirt into a jacket and moved on to the drawstring of her pants. That too he quickly slit. After a sharp jerk to loosen the waistband, the pants fell to her ankles. He knelt on the ground and helped her step out of the of the tatters. Tom looked up, eager for approval from his beloved who hated ugly clothes and liked a strong man, and felt his straining erection wither. Julia was crying. 

“Oh no. No. No. Baby.” Articulate words failed him. Julia wasn't a crier, not a sincere one anyway. She could put on a show when it served her purpose but she was more likely to plot or pout than ruin her makeup. Genuine tears were rare and not something he handled well. “What is it? Tell me.” 

“Later,” she sniffed, trying to force her breaths to come evenly. She pulled her best haughty officer's wife attitude from some well deep inside her. “Right now I'm cold.” 

Tom grabbed the blanket from the bed and quickly draped it around her, letting her decide how tightly she wanted to pull it closed in the front. He wanted to wrap her in the full embrace of his arms and drive away everything but joy, but he held back. He'd walk through Hell for this woman. He could keep it in his pants for as long as she needed him to. 

When she met his eyes he saw cracks in her veneer. Something was very wrong, but she was going to take her time letting him know what it was. 

“An unmade bed is just uncivilized Tom,” she said. “Our home was hit with a nuclear weapon, but that's no reason to be tacky.” She gave him a controlled smile as she said it. 

“My apologies. You were cold. I overreacted.”

“You did,” she said. “I think instead of wearing the bed, I should get in the bed.”

“And where would you like me to be?” he asked. 

“Well first, of course, you have to put the coverlet back on.” She looked him levelly in the eye, her tears now mostly banished, and gave a faint smile. “Then you should climb into bed and hold me until I'm warm. Hold, Tom. Hold.” 

“I understand,” he promised. It was a lie. He didn't understand. He had no idea why she'd been crying. Maybe cutting the clothes had ruined whatever plan he was sure she was already plotting against the Patriots. Maybe the last several months had caught up to her all at once. Maybe those bastards had violated her. God help them if they had. He'd spent enough time with Strausser to know how to make a man beg for death.

Julia climbed between the sheets and wrinkled her nose. The bed linen wasn't too badly stained, but it wasn't ironed and certainly not perfumed. She'd slept worse places since fleeing the Monroe Republic. 

“We can ask for a new room,” he offered. 

“Spread the blanket and come here,” she said. 

He did as he was told, flinging the blanket into the air so it fluffed like a parachute before settling over Julia. Tom breathed deeply, trying to fight down desire, but his beautiful and long sought wife was naked in bed and asking him to climb in with her. Climb in and only hold her. Women. 

Tom crawled into bed and wrapped his arms around her, staring a night of aching balls dead in the face He cuddled silently for ten minutes before deciding to just get it over with. If he was already left with only his hand for company they might as well go ahead and face whatever else she had to say that was going to kill his sex life. 

With Julia's head nestled on his chest and her body tucked under his arm, safely away from eye contact, he asked, “Julia, why were you crying?”

He felt her tense and braced himself for the answer. Someone was going to pay for bringing out that level of emotion in her. 

“I spent six months in a refugee camp. I lived on rations and in rags. It was crowded and horrible. And when my hero finally shows up to save me you look like you need rescuing yourself. You're a mess Tom. The beard? Who told you that looked good? Your shirt is covered in blood. When was the last time Jason had a bath? And then we came here, to this lovely hovel. The linens in this room have been in service since before the blackout. And you threw me up against a door and pressed a knife and your cock against me. I dreamed of getting rescued Tom. I knew you'd come. I never doubted that. I just thought you'd be a little more Prince Charming and a lot less Conan.”

“Oh,” he said. 

“Yes. Oh.”

“Which dog house am I in?” he asked. 

“Somewhere between New Orleans and my sister's wedding.” 

Tom flinched. They'd gone to New Orleans for their third wedding anniversary. Julia had been pregnant with Jason and unable to drink. Tom, still too recently finished with college to pass on a two for one drink special, had gotten hammered. Later, a year before the blackout, at her sister's wedding he'd come up behind a blonde woman in a blue bridesmaid's dress, squeezed her ass, and invited her back to his hotel room. He'd forgotten that his wife's cousin was also a blonde and in the wedding. 

“I can make it up to you,” he said, scrambling for ideas. “Do you want me to go wash up and shave?” 

“I'm not letting you out of my sight tonight,” she said. “Just pour the wine.”

“There's wine?” Tom said. 

“It's the honeymoon suite, Tom. They said there would be a bottle.” 

Two glasses of sweet red wine and a back rub later, Julia was in a much better mood. 

“You taste like blood,” she said, kissing the skin along the edge of his beard. 

Tom decided to remind her of the young scholar he'd been when they first met so many years ago. "Under the law almost everything is purified with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins."

“There are better things you could be doing with those lips,” Julia said. 

'Jackpot,' thought Tom. His muscles tightened in anticipation. He wasn't merely getting out of the doghouse tonight, he was going to regain his crown as king of the world. He'd have to kneel before the queen until she was satisfied, but the world was a better, safer place when Julia was happy. He intended to make her very happy. 

He worked his way down her neck, lingering on the spots that gave her goosebumps. He could do this half asleep or blindfolded after all these years, in fact he had, but they still found ways to surprise each other. Sometimes it was simply that what used to work didn't anymore or a point that used to be a pass through was now a main attraction. Other variations were more intentional. He'd found a stash of old girly magazines while raiding a rebel house once and they had spent the next fourteen months working their way through the tips, tricks, and letters. He dug back through his mental archive and drew the card that had gotten a great response from her but wouldn't require too much work from him. He had staged a prison break today and killed a dozen men. He was tired. He didn't need lockjaw to go with it. 

Tom worked his way around her body, kissing and caressing her everywhere except at the center of her desire. His goal was to make her ache. He was going to make her beg for it, and Julia wasn't a beggar. This could take a while, but kissing her thighs and belly was a hell of a lot less strain on the neck and tongue than eating pussy for an hour and a half. She might have forgiven him, but she wasn't going to let him off with a half-assed effort. He knew better than to try to deliver one. 

He kept working south, trailing kisses on past her tangled pubic hair without stopping to dive into it. He noticed that she didn't have a lot of room to complain about his beard given the state of her own grooming. He was tempted to grab the hunting knife and bushwack in a path since he knew he'd be camping their later, but she'd be annoyed and it seemed a shame to blow a half an hour's worth of foreplay. He noticed new scars as he kissed her knees and continued on, tasting blood from the fresh scratches on her calves. How their son had had turned out so stupid was beyond him, but the boy had tried to cut their escape path through a briar patch. He shoved Jason out of his mind and thanked God for the blessing of menopause. 

“Your beard is rough,” Julia said. Tom rubbed it along her leg from ankle to apex and back down again, trying to tickle her with it. He thought it made him look tougher, hardened, but he suspected he'd be shaving in the morning. 

“You're getting blood in it,” Julia said. 

“There was already blood in it,” Tom replied. “I vanquished an army for you today.” 

“I know. Now can you vanquish an ache for me?” 

Tom settled his face between her thighs and began seeking moisture. He'd planned to continue his circuitous route of attack even as he neared the target zone, but the only deforested area seemed to be the bullseye. He considered using his hands to open the book, but she hated that technique. It was a face first dive through the thicket, his nose punching through first like a bulldozer. Tom worked his tongue in her folds until the river of desire was flowing like the Nile. Julia bucked and slammed her thighs together, trapping his head in her lap while she came. She didn't bother to muffle her cries and Tom silently congratulated himself on a job well done. 

When she finally stilled, he was still trapped between her legs and began to wonder if she'd passed out or gone to sleep. He reached out his tongue for a few tentative strokes. 

“Oh God,” she moaned. “Stop that and come fuck me.” 

Tom grinned and tried to pull back. He couldn't escape. 

“Ouch, Tom. You're pulling my hair.” 

“Well, you're pulling mine too.”

“What?” Julia demanded. 

“Your... meadow seems to be stuck to my beard. The blood and moisture and two sets of wiry hair...”

Julia growled, cutting him off. “Where did you leave that ridiculous knife?”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments welcome. Unbeta'd so please do let me know if you see something. 
> 
> Slightly edited 9/6.


End file.
